


Remember Me (SB4)

by Keaalu



Series: Blue AU [7]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-30 01:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12642957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keaalu/pseuds/Keaalu
Summary: Or, The Ballad of the Exploding SeekerThe war is over. Cybertron is healing, and her people are settling into a new era of cautious optimism.On a distant mud-ball world, the warlord everyone had allowed themselves the luxury of forgetting sits patiently watching and waiting, biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment for him too to finally come home – and there’s a space on his trophy room shelf for the wings of a certain scarlet traitor.(Yes, I'm aware that SB3 isn't finished yet (I'm still working on it!), but I got a bit of my writing mojo back for NaNoWriMo and HAD to get this started!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Started writing this for NaNoWriMo 2017, as the Screamer had an AMAZING idea (his words) that I needed to get down on paper. It's going reasonably well at the moment... I'll come back to FT eventually!)

“I’m sure I could hit him from here.”

“We’re not meant to be shooting him, Dirge. We’re not meant to be drawing attention to ourselves yet. Or did you forget that part? Again?”

Sitting on a distant cliff right on the territorial limit of Vos, Ramjet had a headache coming on. He still didn’t understand precisely _why_ Megatron had sent his trine back here, unless it was to get shot of the three of them for an orn or two. (Which Ramjet could understand; he’d have liked to be able to ditch his wingmates for a couple of orns, as well.) It wasn’t like this played into any of their specific skillsets. Spying on the former command trine was the whole reason mechs like Soundwave existed. They didn’t have a whole lot to show for their trip, so far.

And now he had to deal with a bored, argumentative Dirge. Sure, Ramjet loved his wingbros, but they _really_ made his helm hurt sometimes – even more than flying into slag did, and he was actually engineered for that. 

Ramjet tuned his brother out, returning his attention to the matter at hand. After Soundwave had picked up on some carelessly unguarded Autobot chatter that suggested there was going to be some sort of official celebration in the coming orns, the three coneheads had been sent back to Cybertron to get a feel for what was going on. 

That idiot spacebridge guard had even asked them if they were coming for ‘that Vos thing?’ and had happily let them through when they’d lied that _of course_ they were; what else would they be going back to Cybertron for?

They’d arrived to find the ‘thing’ involved Vos – correction, _New_ Vos – being on the cusp of being recognised as an autonomous city-state once again. The celebration was the official recognition of that fact. Looking at the news reports, half the damn planet was going to be attending. 

And Ramjet, one of a small number of pure-sparked Vosians, who’d survived Tarn’s attack, and dug out Primus-only-knew-how-many survivors, and fought against the Autobots that had wanted to keep them all grounded, and actually _defended_ that ungrateful red slagger on more than one occasion instead of just letting one of Prime’s band of merry morons shoot him? 

Not invited. 

The white jet couldn’t help feeling just a tiny bit hurt. And _vindictive_. 

Megatron had been cooking something up for a long time – something to permanently wipe the insufferable _smirk_ off a certain jet’s faceplates. Ramjet was looking forwards to getting to see it. 

Of course, the warlord hadn’t let all his remaining loyalists in on the details – didn’t trust them not to prematurely screw it up, Ramjet guessed. Fair precautions if Thrust was involved. All they’d been told was _go to Cybertron, see what’s going on, and when you leave, make sure you leave my calling card. Preferably something that will get_ them _to come to_ me.

The three uninvited mechs had quietly set up a scope on the escarpment, to watch proceedings from a discreet distance. New buildings in Vos had sprung up like weeds; even now, two small Seekers were carefully hoisting a girder to the working platform, their trine leader shouting directions down to them. 

Thrust watched them with a curl in his lip. “Yeah, this looks so much better than working for Megs, of course. I’d so much rather be hauling building materials around like some dumb beast of burden.”

Ramjet kept his vocaliser carefully offline, to keep from pointing out that actually? Something about this sounded… tolerable. Something possibly even rather appealing about the idea. Coming home, helping rebuild. Not getting shot at by underclocked Autobots for the sake of a few dregs of energon. 

If only it wouldn’t involve the need to thank the scarlet traitor. He was fairly confident his vocaliser would glitch out before he managed the words. 

Atop an unfinished high central tower, a small group of Seekers had clustered; there were a few that Ramjet didn’t recognise, and didn’t feel inclined to try and get an ident off them, but Starscream’s ivory wings were present, _of course_ , right in the middle. Acid Storm stood off to his left, and Thundercracker was close by on his right. That giant white Autobot bus sat in the middle of a little cluster of curious Seekers on the edge of the platform, apparently more interested in chatting with the residents and enjoying the view than contributing to the conversation. 

No Skywarp, but that was no surprise. Even before ditching the ‘Cons, the mech had elevated _slacking off_ to an art form. No great deal – he’d have probably been as useful as a cardboard blast shield to them, right now. 

Ramjet wasn’t sure what they were discussing, but figured it was something political. Could never be a good sign when even your (supposed) friends didn’t really want to get involved. 

Starscream’s laughter – a high, grating sound that set Ramjet’s denta on edge – was audible even over the distance between them. Nice to see _some_ things didn’t change. He was gesticulating grandly about something, arms waving as though conducting an orchestra, although Ramjet couldn’t parse his words at this distance. In front of them, a holographic representation of part of a city hung in the air; it probably overlaid the real streets, so Starscream could demonstrate where he was thinking of building his palace, or some slag. 

Ramjet glared at the back of the silver wings, as if he could somehow focus his optics into lasers and bore holes through them. The traitor actually looked _good_. Perhaps a fraction smaller than the conehead remembered, more lightly built, but he was clean, well-polished, and highly animated, so obviously not suffering from lack of energon. It made Ramjet feel slow and heavy – not to mention, reminded him how fragging _depleted_ he spent most of his life.

He’d got all New Vos pledging their alliance to him, _and_ half the dirt-crawlers in the neighbouring districts. It was like a giant middle finger to Megatron, and the dwindling number of remaining Decepticon loyalists. _Ha ha, look at me, bribing all these suckers with gifts and false promises. They’re such a gullible bunch of idiots, it’s truly_ shameful _your mighty leader couldn’t lie so convincingly as me._

_It’s not our fault we’re stuck on Dirt, on the wrong side of the space bridge, dealing with underclocked_ Autobots _who just have no idea of when to fragging_ quit. 

“I _definitely_ could hit him from this distance. Might even be able to knock half the other slagheads off in the process.”

Yeah, that headache wasn’t going to get any better any time soon. Ramjet glanced up at Dirge, who perched on the very top of the escarpment, cannons up, making a big show of measuring his aim. 

“It’s not about whether or not you’re physically capable…” the white jet sighed and covered his face with one hand. “We’re not meant to be shooting him, Dirge, or we’d have done it already. It’ll blow our cover, if nothing else.”

“Your life wouldn’t be worth living if the Boss found out _you_ offed him, anyway,” Thrust added, from his ledge further down the rockface. “You know he’s been fantasising about finally killing the slagmunch for vorns. He might kill _you_ in his stead. Then we’d have to find some other depressive loser to make our numbers back up.”

Dirge made a little noise of displeasure and folded his arms. “This from the mech that watches far too much human-made entertainment, and is always complaining that the bad guy doesn’t just kill the hero when they get the chance.”

Thrust vented a _snort_ and finally looked up at his wingmate. “We’re calling the Screamer a _hero_ , now?”

Dirge ignored him. “Anyway, I never said anything about _killing_ the fragger. I just want to knock that obnoxious _smirk_ off his faceplates.”

“ _Fine_.” Ramjet glared back into his scope. “If you can do it without him raising the alarm, feel free. But if you ruin this whole plan that we’ve been working on for the last quarter vorn? You’re on your own. You can rescue yourself when they come hunting you. And when Megatron comes for your wingtips.”

Dirge went quiet, muttering to himself. “Just wish he didn’t look so fragging smug. And _comfortable_.”

“Yeah, speaking of which,” Thrust glanced up at his wingleader, “remind me why WE haven’t ditched the ‘Cons and come home, like those three losers?”

Ramjet glared back, but without much heat, and Thrust didn’t back down. _Why indeed._ “Because we know the meaning of loyalty, to the mech that scraped us up out of the gutter while Vos burned? We don’t owe these traitors anything.”

“You act like they’d even let the likes of you in, in the first place,” Dirge sniped. “We half-smelted guttermechs have no place in Cybertronian high society.” He waved a hand, airily. “Why are you suddenly so interested, anyway?”

“Because it looks nice, over there? It’s not some stupid tin can on the bottom of the ocean on a planet of dirt? We could have it made, over there. Comfortable. Not _starving_ all the time?” Thrust _glared_ up at him. “If a buncha soft-sparked Autobots and wibbly neutrals let _Starscream_ come live here, without even separating him from his spark for war crimes, why aren’t _we_ getting in on the action?”

Dirge snorted and used one thruster to give his burgundy twin a shove-kick to the head. “’Cause you’d get shot at before you even get to say ‘hi, how’s it going?’? You know those three are territorial as it gets. You saw what they did to Astrotrain, and that was just for roughing up one of Skywarp’s femmes.”

Thrust rubbed his helm and pouted. “That’s why you broadcast something friendly while you’re still out of range of fire?”

“Yeah, and I got you a massive white sheet to wave while you’re at it.”

“You know what? That wouldn’t actually hurt to have.”

“ _Guys_ ,” Ramjet groaned, finally lifting his head from his hands. “Did you ever think the reason we’re a laughing stock that never get anything done is ‘cause you two spend all your time bickering?”

Two sets of hostile crimson optics glared back at him. 

Dirge leaned subtly closer; “Right, so, nothing at all to do with the fact our _de facto_ wingleader’s a waste of space whose only solution to problems is to headbutt them?”

Ramjet came halfway up into a crouch and Dirge hastily stumbled backwards out of range. “Where you’re just all noise, and no substance? Right,” he sneered. “Anyway. If this all works, you might get your wish, Thrust.” He picked up the scope. “Come on. We’ve got one more job to do before we can head back to Dirt.”

New Vos was separated from Deixar by the districts of Tysta and Surkea. Surkea was still a derelict ruin, but Tysta had plenty of high perches a mech could put down on to watch the goings-on below, and plan their next steps.

Dirge peered through the scope. “All right, so I could understand watching the Screamer, but why are we spying on a bunch of _grounders_?”

“Remember the second part of Megatron’s instructions?”

“Leave a calling card?”

“Right. And you clocked that one of the dirt-crawlers is Skywarp’s brat, right?”

“Like any of us could forget,” Dirge drawled, sourly, folding his arms “Point being?”

“Point being, you _unimaginative troglodyte_ , if we want their attention, how better to get it?”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Ramjet's trine actually have a modicum of success!

Today was apparently Slipstream’s turn to spark-sit. 

It hadn’t been, to start with – but Footloose had been called away at short notice to an emergency in the recycling plant on the edge of the district and pleaded his help. He didn’t mind giving his twin a hand, especially if it might lead to the opportunity to blackmail her later. 

Skydash might have been small, but that first-instar frame apparently had oversized tanks because she _always_ had energy to spare. Keeping up with her was usually a collective affair. Only her dam Celerity seemed to be able to manage it on her own, and that was probably only because she was big enough for a cold-fusion core generator. (Slipstream tried not to be jealous of it.) 

Slipstream had collected his little cousin from Surefire, currently on spark-duty in the makeshift nursery in Celerity’s office, then joined up with a small group of close friends and family to take his mid-orn break in one of Deixar’s small new parks. It was greener than most Cybertronians were familiar with, but the trees weren’t just decorative – a small energy collector grafted onto each plant’s trunk fed power into the grid, or any tired machine that wanted to take advantage of it. 

After downloading the latest news to his wafer, the blue mech crashed out in the shade of a nice mature tree to read it while he charged. Longbeam and Whitesides sat together nearby, catching up on the gossip, sharing the remains of a bag of bright fulminating candies (probably swiped off Pulsar’s desk). Sunspot, one of Slipstream’s housemates, lounged full length nearby, chewing a stylus and preparing a playlist; the little yellow bike had almost offlined in shock at being invited to put something together for the Vosian celebrations, and had since spent at least ten orns solid doing nothing else. 

All the inactivity had left Skydash _bored_. Nobody was doing anything except _talk_ and _sit_. She wanted to call “Unnolawp” and get him to take her flying, but her little transmitter didn’t have a good enough power output yet to reach him (she knew; she’d tried already) and Unnolseem wouldn’t call him for her. 

Unimpressed by having her family refuse to take her with them to New Vos, Skydash was busy trying to get to the tallest point on the small tree nearby, to see if it’d be tall enough for her to see all the way out there. Unfortunately the spindly trunk wasn’t really up to supporting her weight, and every time she got a fraction higher than halfway, it bowed almost all the way in half to dump her back on her small aft. 

So frustrating!

She sprawled dramatically over her cousin’s lap, on top of his newssheet, scrolling through a dozen or so pages at once. “ _Unnolseem_. Why Day not take?”

Slipstream set his wafer to one side and flicked one of her tiny wing-nubs. “Didn’t we go through this two breems ago, Scraplet? Because he’s at work, and it’s a building site, and you’re still little and squish-able.”

“Took before.”

“He wasn’t at work before.”

“But want see! Make fly!”

“Footloose said she’d come and pick you up as soon as she was done with her latest trauma case, remember? Isn’t she good enough for going for a fly with?”

Skydash thought about it for a few seconds. “Yes? Not Day.”

“Ugh. Some people are never satisfied.” 

With an exaggerated roll of the optics, Slipstream rolled her out of his lap and tumbled her down the little slope; giggling, she finally fetched up against Longbeam. The tall femme peered down on her for a second before posting a candy into the small mouth that opened expectantly at her, like the gape of a baby bird. 

_No wonder Dash kept them running most of the time. She was always getting topups._

__Slipstream stretched out more comfortably and flicked his way back to his place in the news. It surely wouldn’t have been that big a deal to take the little scrap off to Vos? It wasn’t like she often actually _detached_ from Thundercracker’s shoulders when the big jet was looking after her. 

The sound of approaching jet engines shaded subtly into his awareness. Slipstream looked up from his wafer, curiously – of his family, no-one was due back in the region for ten breems, and no other airframes lived very close to Deixar.

He couldn’t see anything, and sent out a broad-ranging positional request instead. 

…and got nothing. 

Uneasy, he stood up to get a better look around. Why would someone privacy lock their basic signal data? He dipped into a police channel instead, and turned it into an official request for an ident. 

Still nothing. _Slag_. He felt his pumps clicking subtly into a higher gear and defensive protocols coming online. 

Longbeam picked up on the use of the official cipher and looked up at him. “Problem, Seemo?”

“You didn’t hear jets, just then?” At her nod, he added; “They’re not responding to my pings.” The sound of engines had disappeared; too abruptly to have just passed over. They must have landed. 

“You think they’re in trouble?” She stood and moved closer, lowering her voice. 

Something about the exact subharmonic frequency of the engine noise had upset his diagnostics in a very familiar way. “I think they _are_ the trouble.”

She straightened, subtly, suddenly anxious, and mouthed _Decepticons?_ at him.

“Not sure. Maybe?” He whispered the words back to her, even though he was aware that suddenly everyone was listening closely to him. “Might wanna get everyone out of the open, just in case.”

“Good idea.” Longbeam crouched next to her sibling. “Whitesides? Might need you to run interference for me…”

Slipstream turned his attention towards Thundercracker, out in New Vos. - _sent anyone to Deixar?_ \- he asked. - _got company, no ident_ -

No reply. Wait, no. Not _no reply_ … his signal wasn’t even getting out. Something was jamming him-!

At last, Slipstream realised Skydash was talking to him. 

“…Who they, unnol? Who coming?”

_Slag! Too close already!_

__Slipstream turned, alarmed, and barely had the chance to register the large white body hurtling in his direction before he was impacted by a violent tackle that sent them both crashing into the vegetation. The poor tree didn’t stand a chance, exploding into matchsticks around them.

The final impact with the ground destabilised all his gyroscopes and left him flat on his back, groaning. _Ramjet!_

“You’re coming with us, short stuff,” he heard the jet snarl, over the disorienting echo of rebalancing audios. A big hand clamped down on his wrist and yanked him unceremoniously back to his feet. He promptly went all the way over and ended up on his hands and knees instead, almost falling on top of Whitesides.

The smaller mech was already tensed into a subtle crouch, fingers curled into fists, looking like he was about to hurl himself into the fight; alarm flashed like cold fingers up the back of Slipstream’s helm. What the bike thought he’d actually _achieve_ by joining the brawl, Slipstream had no idea; Ramjet must have out-massed him by three times his own weight, and was damn near impossible to incapacitate through brute force alone. The diminutive mech would get flattened in an instant. 

“No, run! Get hel _mmmf_!” Slipstream managed to splutter, before an arm came around his throat and a big hand flattened over his mouth, hauling him backwards. 

Whitesides didn’t need telling twice. He folded up into his alt mode and was gone in a flash of dust towards the station. Sunspot high-tailed it in the exact opposite direction. Longbeam was already nowhere to be seen. 

Late to the party, his wingmates dithered on the pavement, not sure which one to chase.

“Leave ‘em!” Ramjet snapped, struggling to wrangle the smaller mech. “Gimme a hand here, will you?”

“But they’re gonna raise the alarm-!” Thrust protested.

“Of course they are, Primus-! _That’s the point!_ Leave them! The block on their comms won’t last long, we’ve gotta get back to the bridge before they can stop us getting through-”

Using his captor’s momentary inattention, Slipstream got his feet back under himself and shoved backwards, hard. It toppled Ramjet past his centre of gravity, and both went sprawling with a crunch. The smaller mech threw himself away to one side, scrabbling for his footing.

Ramjet secured a tenuous hold on one ankle and tripped their quarry over again. “So help me Primus, if you two _frag this thing up_ -!”

Stung into action, Thrust finally piled into the fray. Before the teleport could triangulate an escape route, he lunged and landed square on his back. “Well if you could try and keep a grip on the sparkling, that’d be real helpful.” Wrenching Slipstream’s arms back behind him, he hauled him right up off his feet – unintentionally giving their prey a platform to launch a kick that connected with Ramjet’s face with enough force to knock him clean onto his aft. 

Ramjet snarled and cursed; the kick had fractured his cheek. “He’s a slagging _cop_ , for Primus sake, steal his pitfragged cuffs-! _Dirge!_ The frag are you even _doing_?”

The blue jet was barely paying attention, approaching the splintered ruins of the tree Ramjet had destroyed. “I think I see something-“

“ _Dirge_ -! Primus, we don’t have _time_ -! ” 

Dirge ignored him, focused on the shape he’d spotted. Rounding the mess of broken branches, he found something tall and white, trying to pick something up off the floor without drawing too much attention to itself. 

Their optics met and for an instant, they just stared at each other. 

Dirge’s lips drew back in an unhealthy smile. 

Longbeam exploded into action, apparently going to try and outpace him on foot, something small clutched in her arms. She barged into him with her shoulder as she passed, overbalancing him into the bushes, and was halfway up the street in seconds, apparently aiming for a narrow alleyway. 

“Oh _please_.” Dirge watched her run, amused, then revved his thrusters, creating that precise engine harmonic that put even his allies on edge. 

The bike made a little noise of alarm and stumbled, tripped against a kerb and fetched up on her hands and knees. The small bundle slipped from her arms and tumbled away across the pavement, disappearing into the alleyway. 

Dirge followed, at a more casual pace. “Running away? Nice. That’s one I haven’t seen in a while.”

Longbeam was fast – already back on her feet, her small sidearm was in her hand, her arm swinging up to shoot – but Dirge was faster. He delivered a quick pulse from his cannon, instantly obliterating the weapon… and most of the hand holding it. The force of the blast spun her around and slammed her shoulder-first into the wall. She choked out a horrible half-sob of pain. 

Dirge ambled over, still purring that hideous fear-inducing sing-song. She scrambled backwards on her aft, away from him, injured arm clutched across her chassis and fans huffing out increasingly warm air. She whooped her siren, trying to threaten him away. 

“This almost makes up for not being allowed to shoot Starscream.” The blue jet dropped to one knee beside her, and flattened a palm over her mouth. “Tell Skywarp I said thanks, Squeaky,” he murmured, before pressing the emitter cone of one cannon into her midsection. 

She knew immediately what he was going to do and braced her feet against him, to try and kick his arm away, but the battle was hopelessly one-sided, over before it even started. The shot was underpowered, but tore all the way through her flank, shredding superstructure. She arched under his hands, screaming against his palm, thrashing against the unforgiving dirt. A sludge of energon and other fluids immediately began to puddle beneath her. 

“All right, that’s enough of that.” Keeping his hand flattened over her face, he gave her a single sharp _shove_ , cracking the back of her head into the ground. Her siren died with a strangled squeak of pain. “Now, where did your little friend go?”

Leaving his wingmates still trying to wrangle Slipstream, Dirge followed the signal into the alley, towards a little gap between dumpsters. A chilly, flickery blue light filled the space, leading him precisely where he needed to go.

He crouched to find Skydash huddling into a corner, trying ineffectively to hide from him. 

Dirge picked the small body up in both hands, and held the sparkling at arm’s length; she turned her face away, frozen in fear by the subtle noise of his cycling thrusters. “My. You _have_ been a busy mech, Skywarp. I’d have thought your two little pit-spawn were more than enough.”

He re-emerged to an assortment of _glares_ , and Thrust had his hands over his audio venting, as if that’d somehow help block out the sound. In spite of Dirge’s uncomfortable broadcast, they’d maintained the upper hand; with both his wrists and ankles finally cuffed, Slipstream had crumpled in the restraining arms, huffing softly in fright. 

“Do you _have_ to do that?” Ramjet snapped. 

Dirge smirked. Yellow fingers had left three bright streaks of warpaint across his cheek. “Sorry. Only way I could catch it.” He lifted the sparkling with a hand around her neck, unable to help preening at his wingmates’ sudden looks of amazement.

“ _Where in Pit_ did you find that?!” 

“I’ll tell you on the way.” Dirge tucked his small prisoner into his cockpit. “Didn’t you say we needed to get to the bridge before anyone could raise the alarm?”

0o0o0o0

In the recycling plant in Deixar West-13-B, Footloose straightened up bolt upright, promptly dropping the arm of the poor mech she was working on. “Seem?”

The mech gave a shriek of pain and turned the air briefly blue, making her fellow paramedic jump and almost drop his other arm. Footloose ignored him; no-one capable of that many decibels could be too badly injured.

Without any warning, her twin brother’s signal had just… _vanished_. As split sparks, they could almost always perceive each other’s presence in some way, and now there was just _nothing_. It either meant he was a seriously long way out of range, or had stopped transmitting, and neither was good. For a _spark_ to stop transmitting? Yeah, that was some seriously bad slag. 

She lurched to her thrusters. “Sorry, Braze, I’ve got to go. This is our last patient, right?”

Her fellow paramedic looked up at her, alarmed. “What’s happened?”

“Seem’s gone right off the registry. I can’t see him any more. I’ve gotta chase this.” She shook her head. ”You can cope, yeah? Love you!” 

She kicked off and after barely an astro-second of flight, teleported out of view. 

Braze stared at the spot she’d occupied an instant previously, and wondered _how_ bad the trouble was.

0o0o0o0

In the breems after the Coneheads had fled, Longbeam had somehow managed to regain her feet, heeling dramatically over on her injured side and trailing dirty purple footprints.

After a small eternity, she finally staggered into the reception area of Deixar Central Station, still trailing a slimy mess of mixed fluids behind her, and collapsed against Whisper’s desk. She was dimly aware of the desk sergeant leaping from his chair and yelling for help, even as her legs lost their strength and she sagged to the floor, dragging energon-covered paperwork down with her. 

A confusing swirl of colleagues surrounded her, but she couldn’t pick anyone out of the mass, or even process the words being spoken, any more. 

“Decepticons,” she managed, before the light in her optics guttered and consciousness finally left her.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Skywarp has to deal with a meltdown, and Screamer, _what are you even doing still out in Vos, you ignorant glitch._

Down in the small station infirmary, Longbeam cut a particularly pathetic figure on the oversized berth. Her optics were back online, but dim, and her angular features looked strangely gaunt. An external pump fed a slow, steady drip of energon into her damaged primary circulation via a line just under the surface of her neck. At least she wasn’t bleeding any more – the place didn’t need to be covered in any more tiny bright purple crystals. Someone had found a coolant mantle to support her shattered fans, but it looked like it had been designed with Hardline in mind, covering her whole upper body like a poncho – and even that couldn’t quite hide the big carbonised semicircle of missing superstructure. It looked as if someone had taken a huge bite out of her midsection. 

Vector sat beside her, her bike’s one remaining hand enclosed in both her own big ones. She looked torn between furious and terrified, optics blazing a vivid cyan. Her discordant field left the room feeling heavy, as though a thunderstorm were brewing somewhere close by.

_Probably not too far off the mark_ , Skywarp figured, keeping back just enough to let the duty medic move around him. He stood quietly at the foot of the berth, arms folded tight over his emotions, still wearing his shields and covered in scuffs of someone else’s paint. _Wouldn’t want to be a Conehead if the riotbot latched her claws into them._

_Frag. Wouldn’t want to be a Conehead if I get my claws into them. _

__He’d been mid-arrest when the sudden cacophony of frightened messages on the police waveband turned Deixar’s atmosphere an electric blue. Knowing he was going to be more important _here,_ he’d completely bypassed the custody sergeant and dumped his prisoner straight off in cells. (He knew he’d get flack for it later, but couldn’t bring himself to care, right now.) 

Damage control was definitely not his forte, but maybe he could soften the blow a little when his wingmate finally made it back from Vos. The idea Thundercracker somehow hadn’t heard about the attack and Seem’s abduction, and hadn’tautomatically extrapolated out to perhaps that would have meant Dash would have also gone missing…? 

He just wasn’t sure what he was actually going to _say_. It was taking most of his limited brainpower to keep from storming the spacebridge and trying to fetch Slipstream back. Concentrating on being official and efficient was using enough processing power to keep him stable, and distract him from thinking too hard about what condition the youngling would be in when they finally tracked him down. 

Spotweld was already hard at work, divided down the middle; while Weld was working on stabilising the bike, crimping off the final few lines still oozing fluids, it left Spot free to talk to the assembled crowd that had packed into the infirmary like mechanical sardines. 

“We’ve got her stabilised, out of immediate danger. She’s crystallised off most of the damaged lines herself?” the polymorph confirmed. “But she’ll need to be moved to hospital as soon as we can get her there? We’re just waiting on Flatliner for transport. He should be here soon?”

“I’m sorry,” Longbeam wheezed, faintly, unable to manage much more than a few words at a time from her broken vocaliser. “I tried to get her away. They were quicker. I told her to hide but-… I couldn’t see her. I don’t know if they-… if they took her. Too damaged to look. I had to get back here. I’m sorry.”

“S’okay, Beemer,” Skywarp counselled, sitting on the urge to shout and vent frustrated heat. “Don’t stress out about it, right now. Don’t want you blowing any more fuses before you get the chance to give us your scan data, all right?”

“Sure, boss.” She squeezed out a huff of laughter that turned into a groan of pain. “Give you my scan data now. If you want it? Not like I can do-… much else, right now.”

“No you can’t,” Spot cut in, waggling a chastising finger. “I’m not having anyone go hunting for your upload connectors, you’re quite damaged enough already?”

“We need her data, Spots,” Skywarp reminded, leaning closer, wings pulled high and stiff. “We need to know how they got in, how they got out, and what other fraggery they might have got up to while our wings were turned.”

Spot failed to react to the implied threat in the jet’s pose, far too habituated to Seeker _posturing_ to know the threat was mostly empty. “Well, you can wait for it? Like on any other case?”

“This isn’t _any other case_ , Spots-!” Skywarp threw his hands up, frustrated, then caught the medic’s shoulder and forced the mech to turn and face him. “Did you miss the part where three fraggin’ _Decepticons_ got into our airspace, totally unchallenged, managed to cause chaos then escape – with two victims! – before we could do a slagging thing about it?”

“No.” Spot refused to meet the hot crimson glare. “I also didn’t miss the part where Beemer is laying here in pieces because of a squabble over territory she didn’t need to be dragged into.” 

The chastisement stung. Skywarp leaned in closer. “They’ve got Seem, in case you forgot,” he said, unable to keep the _growl_ from his voice. “And probably Dash, too.”

“I know. Don’t try and act like you think I’m not worried about them?” Spot ducked under Skywarp’s arm, out of the way, to rejoin Weld; his two halves zipped carefully together, returning him into a mech that looked somewhat normal. “But it won’t help anyone if Beemer greys out on this table while we argue about what not she should be doing to help, right now?”

“Won’t be at hospital long,” Longbeam spoke up. “Gimme an orn or two. Back on my feet. I’ll help you hunt.”

Anyone with two cortical relays to rub together knew that was far from the truth – she’d be in hospital for a while, assuming the medical team didn’t decide it was safer and more straightforward to simply decant her spark into a completely new frame. 

“Appreciate it.” Skywarp sighed, forced a smile, and patted her foot. “But I guess Spots is right. We need to get you fully repaired before you can do anything. Can’t have you chasing Coneheads if you’re still on the point of snapping in half.” 

“They’re targeting you,” she said, softly. “Thought I was Pulse. Said to say ‘thanks’.”

“…did they tell you what they were up to-?”

“Hey.” Spotweld waved a daring finger in his face. “ _Not now_.”

Skywarp batted the finger away, and opened his mouth to argue, but a ripple of disturbance out in the corridor (and approaching fast) preceded Thundercracker’s arrival. 

_Great._

__The blue jet barged his way to the front of the room, fairly radiating alarm, knocking people out of the way with his wings. “Where’s Skydash?!”

Skywarp stepped in front of him, hands up, wings flaring subtly in an attempt to shield Spotweld’s patient from view. “It’s not a good idea for you to be here right now, TC. Come on, let’s go talk out there-”

Thundercracker tried to push past him, peering over his wings. “I-I heard we’d had- Ramjet? What were they doing here? And _where is Dash_?!” Then he clocked Longbeam. His optics visibly widened and his fans kicked into a higher gear. “What-what happened here…?” 

Skywarp saw his wingmate’s legs wobbling and steered him hastily into a chair before he could end up in an unbecoming heap on his aft on the floor. For several seconds, Thundercracker could only cling to him, hands tight on his shoulders, concentrating on drawing cold air through his core.

“Coneheads?” he managed, at last. “Did-did they-… to Longbeam…?”

“Yeah, and yeah.” Skywarp stayed in a crouch, so his brother had something to lean against, and watched his gaze flash around the room, trying to take it all in. He underlaid his words with a soothing harmonic, hoping it might help keep Thundercracker stable. “We’re not sure what they came for, yet, except to cause trouble. We know they’ve got Seem.” 

“And Dash?” Thundercracker finally looked down at him. 

Skywarp kept up the subtle harmonic. _No avoiding it now_. “Yeah. We figure maybe they have Dash as well. Pulsar and her sibs are out checking where they were last seen, just to be sure she hasn’t hidden up in a crevice.”

“And you’re all just _sitting here_?” A flash of something ugly – a mixture of alarm and fear and outrage, and not all of it directed against the invaders – passed through the pale features, brightening the crimson optics. Thundercracker staggered halfway back to his thrusters. “We’ve got to get after them-! Why aren’t you chasing them?”

“Mech, they’re already through the spacebridge! What do you think you’re gonna be able to do except stroll into an ambush-?” 

Skywarp leaned his weight back in a futile attempt to weigh Thundercracker down, but it didn’t have quite the desired effect; the blue jet pushed against him, unbalancing him, and used Skywarp’s inertia to vault himself over the teleport’s head. He lurched for the door, leaving his wingmate flat on his wings. 

“Ah, slag.” Skywarp scrambled inelegantly back to his thrusters. Knowing he’d never catch him in a straight footrace, he teleported to just out past the doors, already bracing for the impact. 

Thundercracker collided with him with such a crunch, it was a miracle neither broke anything. Both went sprawling on the floor of the foyer. “What the _Pit_ , Skywarp-!”

Skywarp was back up first, arms open, ready to tackle his wingmate again if needed. Times like this made him appreciate the marginally increased physical capabilities that came with his riot gear. “Will you just… _stop_ , for a second? Take it from the expert; you can’t go blundering off like this! Or do you _want_ your head kicked in?”

“Since when do _you_ tell me what I can and can’t do-?” Thundercracker rounded on him, fists swinging. “Just because _you’re_ too pitfragged _stupid_ to think up a plan doesn’t mean I’m going to sit around and wait for them to call all the shots-! Now get out of my way!”

Skywarp caught the oncoming fist easily, caging it in his own hand. “Fragging _Primus_ , TC.” He used his bulk to force the blue Seeker back into the wall, and carefully pinned him there. “Can you even hear yourself, right now? This is exactly what they want us doing. Fighting each other, charging straight off into danger. They’re probably sat there on the other side of the bridge with a big fragging _net_ , waiting for you.”

Thundercracker thrashed against the teleport’s superior strength, unable to get free. “At least I’m _doing something_ , instead of sitting on my lazy aft waiting for someone else to come along and fix it for me, _like always_ -!”

Skywarp had heard all the insults before – but it didn’t make them easier to hear coming from his brother. He pursed his lips, hurt, and leaned harder until Thundercracker finally stopped struggling. 

For a few seconds, the only sound was the ragged cycling of two sets of fans. Even the little crowd of curious onlookers that had gathered, alarmed to see the district chief of police brawling with his wingmate in the foyer, had fallen silent. 

“I’m not sitting on my aft,” Skywarp corrected, quietly. “I didn’t get here much before you. And I’m actually using my processors, for once. Which you seem to have forgotten you have, and in far greater quantity than me.”

Scorching air continued to vent from Thundercracker’s core, but the heat had begun to die out of his optics. 

“D’you seriously think I’m still here for the fun of it?” Skywarp pushed his advantage. “ _They’ve got Seem_. You’ve seen what they did to Longbeam, and she was only in their way. I can’t even imagine what they’re doing to the poor brat, right now. The frag will _he_ look like when we get him back?” 

“…let me go, Skywarp. You made your point.”

“You gonna leg it again, if I do? Because I don’t care what message it sends to the grunts, dude, I will _cuff you to a chair_ if I have to.”

Thundercracker’s features tightened in a small, subtly humiliated glare, but he shook his head. “I have control. You can let me go. Thank you.”

Warily, senses still on high alert, Skywarp carefully unpeeled his fingers from around his wingmate’s wrists, and stepped back from him. 

Good to his word – and knowing Skywarp wasn’t a mech prone to false promises – Thundercracker didn’t immediately bolt. “You better have a good plan.”

Skywarp visibly sagged. “Primus, I wish. You were right on one count; I’m not smart enough to come up with something on my own.” He spread his arms and half-shooed Thundercracker back towards the privacy of the medical suite. “I’m stuck on whether we’ve got _any_ course of action that doesn’t involve probable suicide. Or having to beg help off the Autobots, which we seriously need to avoid because Primus, it’ll all go direct to the smelter if we get _them_ involved.”

Spotweld had finished preparing Longbeam for her trip to the hospital; the clear plastic sheath protected the injury from dust, but not prying optics. Finally getting a good look, Thundercracker winced and looked away. 

Longbeam finally let the mask slip; her carefully-stoic features creased and her fingers began to tremble. “I’m sorry, sir. It was my fault. I thought I was fast enough.” A flicker of static crept into her voice. “I’m sorry-!”

Still silent, Vector gathered her up off the berth, and tucked her up against her broad chassis. She cast a frustrated/pleading look to the two Seekers, although Skywarp couldn’t quite tell if it was meant to say _catch the slaggers that did this_ or _please don’t be angry with her_.

“Don’t,” Thundercracker said, simply. “Going against those three, I don’t-… Thank you for making the effort.” He managed to drag his gaze away from the bike’s sickening injury, and made an effort to straighten up and look professional. “What about you, anyway, Warp? Holding up all right?”

The teleport forced a grin. “Seem’s a survivor. He's got out of worse scrapes.”

Thundercracker clapped him on the shoulder. “If there was anyone I'd trust to be kidnapped with her...” His words broke. “ _Primus_.” He covered his face with one shaking hand.

Skywarp guided him back into the same chair that had saved his dignity a breem or two before, and crouched next to it, offering his wings for Thundercracker to lean against; the blue jet didn’t need to be invited twice, sagging into him. “It’ll be fine,” he murmured, folding his brother’s hand into his own. “They'll be too busy wrangling my brat to hurt Dashie.” 

“She wanted to come, I-I should have taken her-”

“Hey, quit that. Don’t you even _start_ trying to blame yourself for this, I mean _Primus_.” 

From somewhere outside came the questioning _uuu-whup?_ of Flatliner’s siren; Spotweld went out to meet him. 

Unfortunately the duty medic wasn’t the only one to have spotted the ambulance’s arrival.

“Hey, Flatso? What are you doing here?” 

Skywarp groaned inwardly at hearing his sparkling’s voice, out in the hallway. 

“Ah, Footsie. Right on time. Officer injured on duty, I’m taking them to hospital. I could do with a hand, if you’re free.”

“Really? I hope it’s not Seem, haha.” Footloose voiced a nervous giggle, following him in. “Useless glitch vanished off-district without telling me he was going anywhere, and he was _meant_ to be sparksitting.” 

“Not to my knowledge, no. Patient is a bike.”

The small flier stopped in the doorway, looking baffled for an instant, confused by why half her family were already crowded into the room. “Oh, hey? Does anyone here know why my idiot twin just fell off the registr _oh slag_!” Finally spotting her aunt, Footloose leaped backwards and collided with the wall, covering her mouth with both hands. “Onnie?! What-what-”

Giving Thundercracker one last quick wingbump and a hasty apology, Skywarp turned to his sparkling with his hands out. “Hey, spark. You really didn’t ought to be here.” _Right, because that worked so well on TC_. 

Her shaking thrusters skittered across the floor, scooting out from under her and dropping her gracelessly to her aft. “What hap-happened? Primus! Where’s Seem? Is-is he hurt as-as well?” Her vocaliser skipped. “Primus-! Is this why I can’t see-see him any more? Where is he?!”

“We don’t know exactly where he is, but we’re pretty sure he’s all right.” Skywarp took both her hands into his own and wasn’t entirely surprised when Footloose launched herself bodily into his arms, vibrating in distress. “We think he’s been taken to Earth-”

“Take-taken? Taken by who?”

“By Ramjet’s trine.”

“C-coneheads?” Her fans stuttered harder. “Like-… you mean _Dirge_?”

“Yeah. Exactly like Dirge. They’ve got your bro, and we think they’ve got Dash. We’re figuring out what to do. But it’ll be fine. We’ll sort it out. All right?”

“But-but-… Dash? I was meant to take-… I swapped with Seem. We swapped! I had-… emergency, I couldn’t-…” She spotted Thundercracker in the chair; her fans hitched and her words got even more disjointed. “I’m sorry-… oh, _Primus_ , I’m sorry! It’s my fault. I swapped with him!” 

She hurled herself across the room and into the blue Seeker’s lap like a miniature freightliner, sobbing staticky apologies. After a second of startled immobility, he opened his arms and let her hug him. 

Skywarp vented a sigh and folded his arms. Trust Footloose – now _she’d_ started bawling, it was setting everyone else off, _including_ TC. (The poor mech had had a decent grip on his emotions until the wee spark had shown up, but now both of them were incoherent. _Primus_.)

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Leaving his family self-destructing in the infirmary, Skywarp teleported up to the roof, where it didn’t feel like the full weight of every machine in there was packed on top of his wings. 

Now what, world? 

Never a good sign when _he_ was expected to be the emotionally-responsible one. 

And where the Pit was his fragheaded wingleader, anyway?!

- _screamer, where are you_ -

- _in vos. why?_ -

- _vos? still?_ \- Skywarp covered his face with both hands and allowed himself the luxury of a long, hot sigh of stressed exhaust. It didn’t make him feel remotely better. - _so, you deaf or just stupid?_ -

A stinging, wordless obscenity immediately came back, followed in short order by the sort of scathing remark that usually signalled a communications shutdown. - _figures_ you _wouldn’t understand the importance of this_ -

- _did you not hear what’s going on back here_ -

- _evidently not. what **is** going on_ -

He realised Starscream probably actually _didn’t_ know. Thundercracker would have got the signal by merit of being chief of police, but if he hadn’t said anything before racing back to Deixar? 

- ** _coneheads_** , _star. they attacked beemer, took seem and dash_. _already back through spacebridge_ -

There was a long pause. - _on my way. don’t let anyone get near comms_ -


	4. Chapter Four

The command centre on _Nemesis_ was every bit as sickly purple and ostentatiously oversized as Slipstream remembered it. 

He didn’t remember ever seeing it from _this_ angle, though. 

“Show proper respect to your new master, scum!” 

The shove to one shoulder made him stumble and fall to his knees. Before he could recover, scramble clumsily back to his feet, something heavy – and _hot;_ someone’s thruster? – pressed down on the back of his neck, forced him to bow his helm. 

Slipstream snarled in pain and bucked, trying to squirm his way out, but the bigger mech just kept increasing the pressure on the back of his neck until he was almost crushed flat to the floor. Ultimately it hurt too much to keep struggling, and he went limp. The scorching weight on the back of his neck disappeared. 

“Good boy,” a condescending voice cooed, close to his helm. Felt like Dirge. “Keep this up, and maybe we won’t feel forced to use you as target practice… quite so much.”

The ripple of unkind laughter which simmered through the crowd was quickly replaced by a weirdly expectant _lull_ , broken only by the sound of mechs jockeying for position, and the sound of approaching footsteps. 

A new voice spoke up, somewhere just above and in front. “I should admit to being impressed, Ramjet. Your trine have actually done well, for a change.” 

Well, there was no mistaking _those_ gravelly tones. Suddenly, Slipstream didn’t really want to get up, any more. 

“Thank you, mighty Megatron. It is an honour to serve!”

There were jeers from the rest of the assembly. _An honour to serve! Get up off your belly, Ramjet; who’d you think you are; Screamer? Yeah, well done for kidnapping a sparkling._

Someone caught a hand under Slipstream’s shoulder and hauled him upright. He had to work hard to restrain a flinch. 

Barely an arm’s length away, Megatron sat scrutinising him – elbows propped on his knees, leaning down towards him. The warlord looked good; not the scruffy, half-starved bundle of desperation the youngster had expected, from the disparaging way his family had taken to describing him. _Poor Megatron, stuck on the wrong side of the spacebridge, squabbling with Autobots._

__No, the mech sitting staring down on him looked clean and capable, well-oiled and powerful. Every inch the nightmare that could flatten everything on Cybertron, if he wanted.

“Slipstream,” he said, at last. “Considerably _larger_ than last time we met.”

Slipstream didn’t recognise his own voice – thin and fracturing. “Yes, sir.” 

_Didn’t hurt to be polite, even if you did feel like purging a tank, right?_

__“I did expect more from you,” the old warlord finally said, at last, relaxing back in his chair. “As a sparkling, I could see the potential in you. A small mirror of your sire, who had been loyal to me for a very long time. With a little…” He wafted a hand. “…coaching, in the right direction? A little reminder of why this was the only faction that would ever truly understand you? The two of you could have been valuable assets in my campaign.” He elaborated a sigh. “Instead, I see just another unimaginative, whining Autobot, with the lack of ambition that comes as standard.”

Slipstream bristled. The words might have still been faint, but they were out before he got the chance to evaluate whether they were actually sensible to say; “I don’t think I asked for your approval.” 

The blow came out of nowhere – an almighty, needlessly violent kick to the head, it sent him skidding across the deck. He fetched up against someone’s legs, puffing softly in alarm. 

The bellow chased him across the floor; “Watch your manners, dirtcrawler!” Only just able to pick up the words through a haze of distortions, he wasn’t even sure who was yelling. The owner of the legs used their feet to hustle him back to the centre of the room. 

He could feel a trickle of… _something_ … begin to ooze down from his temple. His diagnostics couldn’t make up their mind on what they thought it was. He hoped it was only energon. 

Megatron watched with a smirk. “Please don’t kill our guest before we’ve had the chance to make use of him.”

Dirge chose his moment perfectly. “Don’t worry, sir. If that one gets broken, we just use the spare.”

When the blue jet didn’t immediately elaborate, Megatron lifted his head briefly off his hand, and waved his fingers, impatiently. “Go on.”

Dirge waited until he was sure every optic was on him before opening his cockpit and extracting something small. He strode through the centre of the mass and with a flourish, placed it into Megatron’s hands. “First-instar sparkling,” he said, for the benefit of anyone without optics. 

“Well this is _very_ interesting,” Megatron purred, holding the small body up in front of his face; Skydash curled up, facing away from him, hugging her knees. “Dirge, I am _very_ impressed.”

Dirge preened at the praise, thumbing his nose at the jeers from his comrades. “Thank you, sir.”

“Now. Where did _you_ come from, I wonder.”

“Well, the little superstar here…” Dirge gave Slipstream a little shove and knocked him sideways, “was meant to be looking after it. Wasn’t counting on us coming along to spoil his orn, I guess.” He snorted and waited for Slipstream to wobble back to his knees before pushing him back over. “I figure they were so disappointed with their first effort – _I’d_ be disappointed; I mean, not only a dirtcrawler, but an Autobot, too? – they decided to try again? That or Skywarp just never understood the concept of protection.”

“Always disappoints me when I realise you might be right. There’s grounder in it, again,” the warlord said, disappointedly. “Just can’t keep from polluting his code, can he? I can’t tell if it’s desperation leading to this lack of standards, or he’s just that easily swayed by a pretty face.”

Thrust leaned closer to his wingmate. “Does this mean you’re gonna lay off with the Primusawful Pit-screech, now?”

Dirge flattened his hand over his wingmate’s face and gave him a shove. “That’s one noisy little scrap of tin. Next time, _you_ can try flying with it caterwauling in your cockpit.”

“She’s not caterwauling. She’s _scared_ ,” Slipstream spoke up, quietly. “I’m surprised a bunch of cowards like you don’t understand that. She’s had no part in your squabble, leave her out of it.” 

“Did you forget the part we’re at war, you worthless nonentity?” Dirge closed a fist on the antennae spreading from the right of Slipstream’s helm, and dragged him halfway up off the floor. Slipstream squeaked in pain and scrambled to get his feet underneath himself. “That makes _everybody_ fair game.”

Thrust folded his arms and glared. “Good going there, scrappy. He was almost in a good mood, there. Now I’m gonna have to put up with him sulking all night.”

Megatron set the sparkling down on the arm of his chair; Skydash stayed huddled in the smallest ball she could manage, but looked too scared to try and escape. “Oh, I have a very specific reason for wanting you, Slipstream. I’m not going to make either of you fight.” He propped his chin back on his hand. “No, there’s one thing I know I can always get from your kind of pathetic, snivelling coward. You make excellent _bait_.”

Slipstream stiffened. A very large penny had apparently dropped. 

“I know your, ah… _family_ … will feel obliged to rescue you. Starscream won’t be able to resist the urge to try and show me up. Skywarp won’t be slow to follow, since he doesn’t have the brainpower for anything else. As for Thundercracker, well, when has _that_ ditherer ever made a decision on his own, hmm?” Megatron sighed and shook his head, as though in regret. “But when I have finally destroyed all three traitors, in full view of the watching planet, no power in this universe will be able to stop me taking back what is mine.” His lips curved into a smirk. “It was so kind of that fool Starscream to do all the work for me, even if ultimately all he has created is another bloated, stagnating Autocracy. Waiting for me to step in and develop it to its true capacity.”

“They won’t come here. They’ll know it’s a trap. They’re not stupid!”

Megatron actually snorted. “If thousands of vorns of war has taught me one thing I can rely on with absolute certainty? It’s that your sire is most definitely _stupid_.” He gave the smaller mech a flat look. “Disappointing that it appears to run in the family.”

\--------

Starscream made remarkably good time back from New Vos, but didn’t appear to have the most appropriate target for his frustration in mind, as evidenced by the raging scarlet ball of temper that appeared in the empty infirmary doorway, wings hiked high on its back. “Remind me why I seem to be the last person to find anything out, around here?!”

“Ex _cuse_ me?” Skywarp rounded on him so fast, Starscream actually flinched a step or two backwards. “I told you within a handful of breems of finding out for myself. You shut me down, saying I didn’t understand how important what you’re doing out in Vos is. Now you’ve apparently decided I _wasn’t_ being a total moron for interrupting you, I should have told you faster?!”

Starscream puffed himself up, trying to avoid the need to admit Skywarp’s unexpected pushback had made him jump. “You know that wasn’t what I meant.”

“No? Educate me.” Skywarp leaned in. Their faces were almost touching. “What did you mean.”

A soft, fracturing voice broke through in the brief silence. “Guys… please?” 

With one final glare at each other, they turned to find Thundercracker perched on the edge of the empty berth, looking surprisingly small and sick, helm propped in both hands, wings drooping. 

“You’re both being kinda loud right now. I think this is gonna turn into a migraine and I really don’t want to be laid up for five orns, again.” He drew in a long stabilising sigh of cold air and shuddered, wingtips trembling. “I haven’t even started to think what I’m gonna tell Lara.”

“Primus, dude.” Skywarp leaned down and bumped cheeks, briefly. “I’m sorry. Lemme find you a cold pack or something.”

“That’d be good. Thank you…”

The medical supplies in the adjoining office weren’t strictly for machines to help themselves to, but most staff had learned that Skywarp wasn’t the sort to be put off by rules and regulations, and making things hard to obtain just increased the likelihood that he’d make an unholy mess while searching. Thundercracker’s personal supply of icepacks were in a small easily-accessible chiller just inside the doorway; his ‘migraines’ were thankfully infrequent, but fairly infamous as well, and having an icepack on hand sometimes made the difference between it lasting one orn, or six. And him being able to still see. 

Skywarp helped himself to two, and waved a threatening finger under the nose of the mech that had followed him into the office. “Don’t. Even start.”

Starscream put his hands up in defeat. “I wasn’t going to. I’m sorry, all right?”

Skywarp grumbled wordlessly through his vents, but appeared somewhat mollified. “What then?”

“I was going to say, once we’ve got TC comfortable, maybe we should go home.” Something dark passed through the smouldering scarlet optics. “Someone wants our attention. I don’t feel inclined to keep him waiting.”


	5. Chapter Five

It really shouldn’t have taken this long for their call to Earth to be answered. 

Starscream paced and muttered to himself the whole time. “They’re doing this on purpose. Keeping me waiting.”

“What if they’re just not there.” Already on edge, Skywarp had to keep his arms folded to keep from acting on the urge to punch him. Starscream’s stupid, angry electric field was polluting the entire building. “What if they’re on their way here, right now, because they know we’ll be stood here wasting time, waiting for them to _answer the fraggin’ comms_.”

“Oh, no; they’re there, all right. They’re doing this _on purpose_ , to get at me. That’s what this whole thing is, some stupid… political… _mind game_.” 

_But it’s not_ your _little sparks that have been turned into political currency, is it._ Skywarp swallowed the words before they could escape, and instead said; “Of course it is. Mech, it’s not only me and TC that know the quickest way to get you flying blind into a situation is to make you think you don’t have personal control of it.” 

Starscream glared at him for an instant, but apparently didn’t have an adequate counter-argument. “Are you implying I’m a liability?”

“I’m not implying anything; I’m saying it quite happily to your face. They’re trying to get you to rush into this because you’re easier to catch when you disconnect your brain.”

Starscream opened his mouth to say something that would no doubt have been particularly cutting, but never got the chance to vocalise it. 

The terminal chirped and they both lunged for it, wings clashing. 

“Hi, Starscream! Skywarp.” Dirge smiled the universe’s most sickly, insincere of smiles. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I keep you waiting?”

Starscream _glared_ and folded his arms. “I have no desire to swap small-talk with an imbecile. Where is Megatron.”

“You want to get rid of me so soon? Aw, but we used to be f-…” Dirge stopped to think about it for a second. “Fellow cannon fodder!”

“And you remained it, you unimaginative blob of tin. _Where is Megatron_.”

Dirge propped his helm against one hand, contemplatively. “What do I get in return for reuniting you two old lovebots?”

While Starscream spluttered wordless outrage, Skywarp leaned in towards the pickup; “Just get him, Dirge.”

Dirge’s smile turned into a smirk. “But I’d forgotten how satisfyingly easy it was to get under the Screamer’s plating. Just once more, for old time’s-” 

“ _Now_ , Dirge?”

“Oh, fine. Whatever.” The blue mech reached up towards the visual pickup, and the scene abruptly skewed around to the left. 

As it turned out, Megatron hadn’t been very far away the entire time. Just off camera, in fact. Listening in, apparently amused by the speed at which Starscream’s temper had flared. “Good to see some things never change.”

Skywarp was close enough to feel his wingmate’s field flush with a small additional storm of fireflies, angry and embarrassed. He set a hand on the leading edge of his wing. - _steady, dude.-_

_-don’t you ”steady” me-_ came the return snap… but the red mech seemed grateful anyway, a little of the prickliness easing off. 

In the space in front of the big command chair, Megatron had arranged his trophies. Slipstream, now looking somewhat battered, and still cuffed, was half-kneeling half-dangling between Ramjet and Thrust, who held one arm each. Skydash sat by the warlord’s feet, curled up into the smallest ball conceivable. 

“You certainly took your time, Starscream,” Megatron drawled. “Can I read into it that you’re glad to have got rid of these two?”

Starscream puffed himself up, arms stiff at his sides. “Don’t blame me for the fact the only followers you have left are a band of incompetents who can’t figure out how to work the communications terminal.”

“Haha! Figures that you’d know what one of them looks like, right Screamer?” Thrust chimed in; Ramjet gave him a frustrated shove. 

Starscream ignored both of them. “You wanted my attention? You’ve got it. Let’s get to the point, shall we?”

Megatron shrugged, casually. “Old friends aren’t allowed to call each other for a chat, every now and then?”

“You have never been my friend, Megatron. _Obstacles_ rarely are.”

Megatron’s jaw tightened, subtly. He directed his gaze towards Skywarp, as if to say _oh really._

__“ _Get to the point_. What do you want.”

“I suspect you know what I want.” Megatron relaxed back in his throne and wafted a hand, grandly. “I must admit to being… grudgingly impressed with what you’ve done with the planet. Not particularly impressed by the way you did it, but then I probably shouldn’t be surprised at your willingness to crawl on your belly if it’s a useful means to an end; I’ve seen it enough times.”

Starscream visibly took offence, rocking forwards onto his toes, hands balling into fists. “I worked hard for this and not once did I _crawl_ anywhere-!” He had to make a visible effort to tame his increasingly shrill voice. “This is what happens when people trust that you’re as good as you say you are, and don’t treat you like an imbecile.”

“Well let’s hope those same trusting fools are equally _forgiving_ , when they realise you have no way of actually protecting them from danger.”

“What precisely do you mean by that.”

“Haven’t we just stablished that you are not an imbecile? You work it out.”

If he was alarmed by the threat, the Seeker didn’t outwardly show it. “How many followers have you actually got left, Megatron? Since I defected and almost your entire air force followed me?”

“How many do I need?” The warlord smirked. “A handful of trained warriors should be plenty, against a district full of sluggish politicians and failed soldiers. And when they see how quickly _you_ are defeated, I suspect the transition will be… somewhat peaceful.”

Tiring of the two mechs posturing, Skywarp put himself in the way; “Hey, Seem? You all right, mech?”

“Been better. Still alive.” Slipstream managed to croak, before Thrust took offence and delivered a quick punch to the side of his head. 

“Who gave you permission to speak?” the conehead bellowed.

Slipstream cringed away from him as best he could, but added, hastily; “Dashisfinetoo!” 

Thrust made a half-step closer, as if to assault him again, but Ramjet shoved him backwards. Thrust made an obscene gesture but settled, glaring. No words came through audibly, so presumably the white jet’s snap of annoyance had gone over their private channel. 

Skywarp leaned in towards the pickup, a little. “Keep your chin up, eh? Don’t do anything stupid to annoy these guys. We’ll come and get both of you soon, all right?”

“…right.”

Megatron glared at the two coneheads. The microphone obediently picked up words which probably weren’t meant to have been broadcast; _this wasn’t meant to be a social call, you two morons. Get them out of here._

__“So much for two old friends having a cosy chat, mighty Megatron,” Starscream observed, flatly, watching as the three coneheads hustled the two prisoners away. “Let them go. They have no part in our dispute.”

Megatron’s lip twitched; he couldn’t quite get the smirk to fit as well over his face as it had done previously. Looked rather like he was biting down on the need to _snarl_. “No part? On the contrary. I think those… _insignificant little dirtcrawlers_ … have become a convenient weak point for you. Buut… if you want them so badly…” He shrugged and waved his hand, irritably. “Maybe we could be persuaded to send them back to you. One limb at a time. Or less, depending on how generous we’re feeling.”

Skywarp stiffened. “If you so much as _think_ about it-”

“You’ll what? Come here? Good! I look forwards to it.” The crimson gaze flickered briefly across the room. “Just as I look forwards to welcoming Thundercracker when he arrives. We’ll make sure he’s, ah. Well-cared-for, until you’re all here.”

“…what?”

“Don’t take too long thinking about your options, now.” Megatron flattened his palm and made a side-to-side slicing motion, and the signal abruptly cut off. 

Skywarp flopped out on the couch, arms sprawling. “Well _this_ sucks slag.”

Starscream perched awkwardly beside him. “…um. Are you all right?”

Skywarp knew his wingmate probably actually meant _please tell me you’re not going to fly off and do something moronic, now_ but it was nice to pretend he actually just meant _are you all right_ for a change. He blew out a long whistle of exhaust and pressed the heel of both hands into his optics. “Yeah. I’m good. Thanks. You?” 

“Frustrated.” The scarlet jet hesitated for a second, and added; “All right, yes. Worried as well. I don’t have an answer for this whole mess yet. But,” he lifted a triumphant finger, “my computing capacity has never been better. We’ll think of something.”

Skywarp managed a small smile. “Better not be that same computing capacity that gets us into trouble almost as much as _I_ get us into trouble.” His smile faded. “Just wait until TC gets home. Then you’ll have both of us to look after. It’ll be like Egypt, all over again.”

Starscream made an exasperated _pfft_ noise through pursed lips, and rolled his optics, but it looked like it was mostly for effect. 

Skywarp laced his fingers, and studied them quietly. “I know what you’re gonna say. My sparklings are always causing problems for you. The whole mess in Egypt was their fault, as well-”

“That… wasn’t precisely what I was going to say.” Starscream interrupted. “For one, it’s not _just_ your sparklings causing problems, this time; it’s Thundercracker’s, as well.” A small smile curved the dark features. “I was going to say; this is what living with you feels like. Constant helmache.”

Now it was Skywarp’s turn to _snort_. 

The rest of the family arrived _en masse_ a breem or two later. Skyfire touched down incongruously lightly in the yard for a shuttle of his impressive bulk, apparently having followed Pulsar back from the station; the bike held the door open for him, and lingered there after he’d passed, watching while the remainder of the little party caught up.

Celerity had followed at a slower pace on foot, features drawn tight in a worried frown, carrying Thundercracker on her back, piggyback-style. The blue Seeker looked… dull. Grey and dusty. It was probably a measure of how bad he felt that he wasn’t even protesting at the undignified way of getting home; just let his arms drape down over her shoulders, rested his helm against her, and let her carry him. 

Once indoors, she crouched and allowed the mech to slide gracelessly onto the couch next to his wingmate, before taking up her usual spot on the floor by his thrusters, resting her cheek against his knees. Thundercracker stretched out an arm and rested his fingers lightly against her antennae. 

Skywarp could sense both of their static envelopes – stressed and tightly-wound, trying not to upset each other any more than they already were, and only succeeding at making each other worse. The teleport swallowed the click of annoyance. More importantly, he could feel the heat still pouring off his wingmate; no wonder the guy looked so drawn. He hastily fetched him a coolant mantle. 

“So what did I miss?” Thundercracker finally asked, in a watery little voice that sounded nothing like his usual no-nonsense boom. 

Skywarp let their wings touch. “Not much. Bit of posturing between Screamer and the Psychotron, but we didn’t find out much we didn’t already know.”

“You called him already?” Thundercracker turned and stared blindly through him. “You didn’t wait for me to get back?”

Skywarp rubbed the back of his helm and glanced away, guiltily. “Eh, well. Didn’t wanna make your migraine worse, you know?” he lied. 

“…also didn’t want to let him know our trine’s strength is down by a third already?”

“He thinks you’re on your way already, mech.” Skywarp gave his hand a squeeze. “And the Dashlet’s fine. All right? We’ve seen her. Scared, sure, but she’s not hurt. We don’t know if he even realises she’s yours.”

Thundercracker sagged against him, like a deflating balloon. “Small miracles.”

“Ain’t it just?” Skywarp moved his other arm out of the way to allow a small, prickly body to climb into his lap. “Hey, Squeaky. Where’s Footloose got to?”

Pulsar offered a sigh and tucked up against him, stretching a small arm across his chassis. “Staying with the ambulance crew, for now. They’re better at getting her to calm down than me.”

Starscream settled gingerly on the drinks table in front of them, not entirely clear if it would hold his weight. He waited until everyone’s attention was on him before finally speaking. “We need to get a plan together, and fast. Megatron thinks he’s got us in a corner, but we’ll figure out how to escape.” A frustrated smile pulled his lips into a tight line. “Now. Has anyone got any ideas?”


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skywarp comes up with a plan to rescue the kids!
> 
> It’s a terrible plan, but it’s better than _no plan at all –_ right, Screamer? 
> 
> He probably ought to have run it past his bros before swinging straight into carrying it out, though.

Slipstream had already lost track of the number of times he’d been sent sprawling, when his captors finally hustled him into a cell and kicked his feet out from under him again. He wasn’t completely sure what they had planned for him, but was fairly confident it wasn’t going to be comfortable… and when Ramjet vanished with Skydash, he was _certain_ it wasn’t going to be. He made a spirited effort to follow them, fear of what they might do to his cousin lending him a strength he didn’t normally have, but was ultimately no match for the two large, well-armed Decepticons. 

Dirge backed him into a corner. The jet wore the kind of smile that anyone with a half-developed sense of self-preservation would have run away from – if they’d been able to. He’d still made no effort to clean Longbeam’s bright yellow finger-gouges off his cheek. “So, superstar. Look at you. All grown up,” he purred. “Almost a miracle. I wouldn’t have put money on it – not with parents like yours. I guess there’s just something in the family code that makes you slaggers hard to convince to die, huh?”

Slipstream somehow managed to keep the static out of his voice. “What do you want.”

Dirge paced back and forth in the space between his prisoner and the door, casually. “Who said I should need a reason to come see my favourite person?” His smile broadened. “You’re in _my_ territory now, Slippy. And I have a little old score to settle. Remember that time in the desert, where you helped sneak TC out from under my watch, and made me look like an incompetent idiot?”

Slipstream felt his pumps stutter, uncomfortably. He tried offlining them, but it didn’t feel like it helped much. “…yes.” 

“Yeah! I sure remember it. That’s what makes it such a shame, you know? This whole thing.” The blue conehead examined his fingers, artfully, and shook his helm, casting a sly glance sidelong to check for Slipstream’s reaction. “I mean, price of scrap metal has really taken a nosedive lately. We coulda got a much better price off the squishies if we’d took the chance to smelt you down a vorn or two earlier.” Seeing the smaller mech visibly cringe, his lips spread wider in a smirk. “What, did you think I was gonna say it was a shame you didn’t join up when you had the chance? Like we’d need a depressive little nonentity like _you_ in the ranks.”

Thrust snickered. “Yeah, Dirge here has that market cornered already. He doesn’t need the competition when it comes to depressive nonentities.” 

Dirge glared and gave him a swift kick in the back of one thruster; the red jet gave a startled yelp of pain, and hastily shoved back, embarrassed by the over-reaction. 

He was sure he probably wasn’t supposed to have heard, but Slipstream picked up Dirge’s frustrated growl of _stick to the plan, will you?_ And Thrust’s immediate return hiss of _WHAT plan, you **always** friggin’ wing it and blame me when you screw up_. For an instant, it looked like they were more interested in coming to blows with each other, right up in each other’s faces. 

Slipstream almost dared to hope that they’d get too invested in their own quarrel, and forget about him… but hadn’t counted on the strength of feeling that would have brewed behind forty vorns of simmering resentment. 

After a brief session of shoving and posturing, the two coneheads managed to get back on track. 

“So, where were we, Slips?” Dirge moved to close the gap between himself and his prisoner. “Reminiscing about the good old days, right? Can’t deny that I’ve been looking forwards to the time we got to meet again. Especially after that big white _blob_ kept me from shooting the two of you after you snuck out.” He pressed his fist into his palm. “That woulda spoiled the party today though, right? Now come on. Get up. On your feet.”

“I’d rather stay down here, thanks.”

“I’m sorry, did I sound like I was giving you a choice? _Get up_. Or do I have to get Thrust to _help_ you?” Dirge flicked a hand at Thrust, who rolled his optics a little but obediently moved in closer.

Slipstream hastily scrambled to his feet. Often, having a wall at his back reassured him, but now it just emphasised the fact there was _nowhere to go_. He tugged uselessly at his wrists, wishing he could get the cuffs off – not that having his hands free would actually help that much against two fully-armed warmechs, but it might have made him _feel_ a little better. Like he at least had the option of trying to defend himself. 

Even if that might have only involved covering his face. 

“So.” Dirge leaned down very close to their prisoner, and was gratified to see the younger mech flinch and turn his face away. “I guess now is a good time to educate you on a few things, yeah? Like how when you were tiny and stupid, we had this unwritten rule that we weren’t to hurt you. That you were too young to understand what we were fighting for, and maybe, if we treated you nicely, let you figure out for yourself that we were legitimate, maybe you’d grow up as one of us.” His voice lowered to a murmur. “Well, guess what? You’re all grown up, now.” He smirked. “And you invited us into your life by choosing to become our enemy.” He tapped a finger against the little Autobot insignia etched into Slipstream’s chassis. 

Slipstream hunched his shoulders and leaned back, just a little, just out of immediate reach. “You can blame the Triplechangers for that.”

“Yeah – blame, or thank, one of the two. I mean, it’s a lot less politically-incorrect to beat your enemy to a pulp than it is to squish some dithery little neutral, right?” Dirge’s lips pulled thin, showing his denta. “Who am I kidding. Like I’d not take the chance to bludgeon you over the head just because you weren’t an Autobot. This just makes it easier to justify…”

The first blow wasn’t exactly a surprise, but it still caught Slipstream off-guard – a solid punch in the side of his helm, crashing him backwards into the wall. Pain rang like a thunderclap through him; he couldn’t be completely sure, not with all his senses destabilised, but it felt like the crystal of his sidelight had shattered. There was certainly _something_ leaking – stinking sharp and volatile where it ran down into his collar armour. 

He tried to be brave – to do his family proud, to hold up his strong Autobot heritage, and not be defeated by a bunch of Decepticon thugs… but it hurt too much to do anything except curl as best he could into a self-protective bundle, trying to shield sensitive components from the beating. 

Ultimately, even Dirge finally got bored. After activating the forcefield that closed the cell, he headed off in a very jovial mood with Thrust, apparently going to find some high-grade to celebrate their successful mission. 

Slipstream wallowed in self-pity for a little while, curled up in his corner, trying to ignore the bright pink smears on the walls, the floor, his own armour… trying to concentrate on slowly disconnecting or rerouting systems away from all the spots that _hurt_. 

Hard to think what they might be doing to Skydash, while he wasn’t there and couldn’t protect her. Although ‘protect’ was a bit of a stretch. More like, _keep their attention away from her by offering himself as a better target_. 

Concentrating on fixing up what he could helped keep him at least slightly grounded. Energon crystallised off, obediently, plugging up the damaged, leaky vessels. Coolant vapours made the air stink; he deactivated a handful of pumps and let the broken pipes run dry. He’d have to rely on his fans until he could get repairs, but that would probably be all right. He’d maybe be a bit sluggish but at least he’d be functioning. Right? 

Because he was going to get out of here, somehow. 

_Repairs_ weren’t just a daydream. 

Primus. What were they doing to Dash? 

_When you were tiny and stupid, we had this unwritten rule that we weren’t to hurt you_ , Dirge reminded him, out of the recent past. Slipstream latched onto the memory, hoping that perhaps Skydash would likewise be “too small and stupid” for them to want to harm. The idea they’d want to turn her against her parents for no reason other than to punish her family seemed altogether too plausible. Maybe they’d never bring her back-

The clump of heavy footsteps drew his attention; Motormaster appeared in the doorway, and deactivated the forcefield. Slipstream automatically cringed away. 

The big mech wasn’t interested in doling out violence, however. “Here. Catch.” 

Before Slipstream could gather his wits, Motormaster flicked his wrist and sent a small bundle flying through the air. 

A small Skydash-coloured bundle. 

Alarm shot through him. Slipstream hurled himself forwards, and just managed to get underneath her, rolling with her to the ground to try and absorb a little of the impact. She still tumbled off him and hit the deck, but it was with only a little clunk, not a horrible wet broken crash. He curled over her, automatically, as if he could somehow protect her. 

The stunticon outside the cell gave a dismissive snort, and – _miraculously_ – turned away. 

Slipstream waited until he could no longer hear footsteps before finally straightening up and checking Skydash over. He almost cried to see she was completely totally uninjured and perfect. She was scared, and crackling with static, and wanted her mama, but that was all. And Primus did he ever sympathise. He’d not wanted his parents like this quite so badly for a long time. All he wanted was to curl up next to his dam’s spark and let the rest of the world go dim around him. 

“Hey, Dash. Come on, bit. Talk to me?” He leaned down and bumped her with his cheek. “It’s just me here now. You’re here with me and it’s all right.”

It took a good portion of a breem for Skydash to respond, during which time he gently shuffled her into his corner, where he could con himself into thinking he could perhaps protect her. She finally uncurled from her ball, looking fearfully around the small cell, still vibrating softly in distress but growing braver now she was satisfied they were genuinely the only two present. She climbed into her cousin’s lap, then wriggled her way up his chest, thrusting her small head up under his chin. 

“Hey Dashie.” Slipstream tucked up his knees and rested his cheek against the top of her head, gently. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you at all?”

“Not hurt,” she confirmed, quietly. “Want Ama.” Most of the static had faded from her voice, but she still crackled every now and then. 

“Yeah. I know. Me too.” He sighed, softly. “Just… have to be patient, all right? Do you think you can do that? They won’t hurt us while they still need us.”

Skydash stared up into his face. “Unnol hurt,” she challenged, reaching out a small hand to touch the glitter of crystallised energon on his cheek, and watched him flinch – only a tiny bit, but enough to make her snatch her hand back. “Make lies.”

He found a smile, and bumped cheeks with her. “Aw, I’m all right. I can get bashed around without hurting too badly. I had good teachers; you remember the Twins, right?”

She gave his features a brief but intense scrutiny – the dim, broken optic, the dried energon still crusting the damaged aerials, the new little dents and paint transfers – apparently trying to decide if she believed him. Even Sunny and Sides hadn’t put him through the mill quite _this_ badly, even when he was at his most argumentative and asking-for-it. He kept up his smile for a little longer, and eventually she decided she didn’t want to challenge the lie, jamming herself back into the top curve of his chassis, the top of her head coming up under his chin. “…see Ama soon?”

“Yeah. I hope so. Soon.”

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO 

For as long as he could remember, Thundercracker had been prone to headaches – although they were usually caused by his beloved wingmates. And never this bad.

It was only after the Triplechangers caught them so catastrophically off-guard, many vorns ago, that the headaches turned into incapacitating migraines. Stress usually set them off, spiking the pressure in coolant lines around his helm and destabilising his optics badly enough that they’d cut out altogether.

When his vision started to bleed into false-colours and static, he knew he was in for a bad one. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d got home, when even barely moving still managed to upset the precarious stability of his cortical pressure. 

Right now, he cut a spectacularly unwarriorlike figure, sitting in the atrium with a foil around his shoulders and a coolant pack weighing his helm down, wishing he’d gone and _done something about it_ last time. It wasn’t even as if this was the first time he’d regretted not going to a doctor and getting it fixed! But every time he considered it, there seemed to be something more immediate and important that needed his attention. (Usually, that thing was what triggered the migraine in the first place.) He’d put it off, and put it off, and eventually it’d fade off his radar… until the next one rolled around. 

Knowing he was a walking liability was making his migraine worse. It kinda hurt to know you actually were the burden you thought everyone was talking about behind your wings.

Starscream had fussed noisily until a long-suffering Forceps had found a patch to force a temporary pressure bleed, but Thundercracker knew it’d take a while to kick in, and that didn’t guarantee he’d get his vision back any time soon. 

As a much younger mech, new to the Decepticon cause and unsure how much of his weight he wanted to throw behind it, he’d been accused of being a ditherer – irresolute, couldn’t make a decision, always left everything too late. 

Now, when he absolutely knew with a hundred percent conviction what he wanted – _needed_ – to do? To go straight out to the spacebridge, fly direct to Earth, storm Nemesis, scoop his family to safety?

Didn’t matter what he _wanted_ , any more, did it? Might as well put a little gift ribbon around his neck and go hand himself over. 

At least he wasn’t the only one stuck for a response. Celerity still sat on the floor next to his feet, one arm stretched lightly round behind his thrusters, her head resting against his knees, purring quietly for him. She’d pitched it so that the subtle near-infrasound harmonised with his electric field, supportive and soothing – something she usually did for their sparkling when Skydash was having a tantrum. Figured. 

Her field felt a fraction less strangled than it previously had, but now worry and exhaustion bled across their bond, in spite of her best efforts not to let it. 

=y _ou don’t have to be strong for everyone all the time=_ he reminded her.

She… acknowledged it, sort of, but not with anything verbal. 

He shuffled awkwardly off the seat and down to the floor, to sit beside her. = _Be all right._ _Just have to wait for Star to come up with a masterplan=_ he consoled, although it felt a little flat to him, too. 

If only Starscream would make an effort to at least _try_ and find his volume control…! 

Wanting more information, the red jet had contacted Vantage, their reluctant silver spacebridge monitor. Finding out the mech had actually gone and _let the Coneheads through_ with no questions and no notification? Had triggered another outburst of bad temper. He wasn’t quite as glass-etchingly strident as he had the capacity to be, but he was being unnecessarily loud, and to Thundercracker it felt like the words were echoing inside his head. 

On the Earth end of the connection, Vantage looked like he'd have appreciated it if the ground would open and swallow him. “I-I thought they were coming for the whole _New Vos_ thing.”

Starscream threw both arms up. “You didn't think to _challenge it_?!”

“No? They’re _Seekers._ I thought it was a Seeker thing? Why would I have challenged it?”

“Well I don’t know, perhaps the fact that they’re still _fully-paid-up members of the Decepticon regime_?! How did they even know about it?”

Vantage visibly cringed. “…I mighta asked them if it was why they wanted to come through.”

“Well _thank you very much_ for making my job infinitely harder. Did you remember to invite Megatron while you were at it?!”

In the corner of the room, Skywarp put up his hands, and disappeared silently upstairs. He was apparently as tired of the noise as everyone else.

Pulsar watched him go into their shared room. She knew he tended to _overthink,_ particularly when he was anxious, coming up with outlandish ideas that often made any bad situation _worse_. Quietly she slipped away from the atrium, and followed him up to the top floor. 

She found Skywarp standing at the big terminal built into the wall, fiddling with his shield emitters, running diagnostics. The faint purple nimbus of active riot screens glowed around him. He didn’t _look_ particularly anxious; his lips were compressed into a determined line and a small, serious frown furrowed his brow. 

He startled at hearing her footsteps, but quickly relaxed upon seeing who it was. “Oh, it’s only you.”

“Thanks. Nice to know you’re glad to see me.” Pulsar gestured at the atrium with a sweep of one arm. “What are you even doing? Don’t you want to be with the rest of us, helping out?”

“To do what, exactly? Aren’t there enough folk down there already, getting in the way?”

She folded her arms, unimpressed. “You’d rather be up here instead, faffing about with unimportant things?”

“If you’re gonna get on my case, at least keep your voice down about it.” He pursed his lips, and slotted his fingers into a dedicated grip in the terminal, turning it through ninety degrees; the light of a green scanning laser swept once up and down his armour, checking for weak spots. “Or are you trying to tell the whole world what I’m doing?”

Pulsar obediently lowered her voice. “What _are_ you doing?”

At last, Skywarp looked satisfied, straightening up. The subtle glow of his shielding finally winked out. “I’m going to fetch the wee sparks back.”

Pulsar just stared at him for a full few seconds, mouth open. “What, on your own?”

“Of course on my own. Why do you think I’m trying to sneak out?”

“But you can’t just-… that’ll be suicide!”

He set his hands on his hips and cocked his head, expectantly. “So, you got a better plan, have you?” 

“Yes, I have an amazing plan. It’s called ‘let’s actually wait for Starscream to think of something practical and not take on Megatron singlehandedly’?”

He gave her a weird sort of patient _glare_ and flapped a hand. “I can’t be sitting around waiting for Screamer to scheme his way to something that _might_ work if he manages not to get distracted by gloating about how much better he is as leader. Besides, all of us going together is exactly what old Buckethead wants. Why should I make it easy for him to kill the three of us?” 

“Remind me how this makes _your_ plan a good one.”

“Well, he’s not gonna kill me if I go on my own, right?” Skywarp grinned, although he couldn’t quite hide the tension that tightened around his optics. “He wants to force us to watch each other dying. It’ll ruin everything if I go and grey out before Screamer can see it.”

“Unless he decides to record it, and sends it to him as a gift.” Pulsar stepped closer and caught his hand, and folding it into both of hers. “Please. At least discuss it with everyone before you launch into the unknown.”

Skywarp could feel her trembling, slightly, genuinely alarmed by his impetuous plan. He almost felt guilty for suggesting it. “So Screamer can put a total nix on it? Great idea.” 

She looked away. “That might have been why I suggested you do it.”

He squeezed her fingers. “Eh, it’ll be fine. I… _kinda_ know what I’m doing?” He lowered his voice. “Megatron thinks he knows me, right? I was a ‘Con most of my life and there’s not much about me that’s ever been subtle. By which token,” his expression brightened, optimistically, “maybe he’ll underestimate me.”

“There’s way too many _maybe_ -s in this plan. What if this is exactly what he knew you’d do?”

“If Megs just wanted us dead, he wouldn’t have given us any warning. He’d have come here and done it. Let’s face it, Ramjet’s trine proved we let our attention drift way too far away from where it shoulda been, it woulda been easy to knock at least one of us off if they’d tried hard enough and weren’t a bunch of idiots. But?” He shrugged, gesturing with his free hand, palm out. “Megatron’s… basically told us what he’s planning? I guess it’s because he knows all Screamer’s triggers, and he’s baiting him in? He knows our wingleader’s just as stupid as me, at times, and if he can get him worked up, he’s easier to deal with.”

Pulsar leaned back a little, as though somehow capable of anchoring him, keeping her grip on his hand. “That doesn’t mean you have to go _now._ ”

“In an ideal world where he gives Screamer a chance to scheme up something decent? Sure, maybe. But this isn’t that world, and if we don’t do something soon, he’s gonna get bored and encourage us to fly blind by posting bits of them back to us.” Skywarp pursed his lips. “I played the ‘Pulsar scavenger hunt’ once before, and it sucked. I don’t wanna play it again.” 

She winced and looked away. 

He peered out into the street, and checked the weather conditions. “So you’re gonna cover for me, right?”

“Cov-… no. What? No!” She recoiled subtly in alarm, letting go of his hand and putting both of hers up in a _stop_ gesture. “I can’t _cover_ for you, what are you even talking about. I’m not getting involved in this stupid plan of yours-!”

He gave her a vaguely smug look, brows arched. “I hate to break it to you, but you already are. Ever since you snuck after me to make sure I wasn’t getting up to no good.”

“I was _worried about you_ -! Not that you’d understand the concept.” She covered her face with both hands, briefly. “I could yell for help. Stop you going.”

“But you won’t, because you know I’m right. And you want our family back together just as much as I do.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m happy to let you sacrifice yourself in the process-!”

“Well, you can’t stop me, so you might as well help out. I just need you to run interference until I can get through the bridge, all right?”

“Warp-… _how_?” She spread her hands. “My inability to lie convincingly is a running joke. Starscream will see through me the instant I engage my vocaliser.”

“I didn’t say you had to make up an excuse.” He gave her a sneaky smile and strummed a finger across her antennae. “I know one thing you could do that would be _guaranteed_ to keep them from coming up to investigate.” 

She just… _stared_ at him, for several seconds, before finally locating her voice. “Did you miss the gravity of the situation, or was it just too entertaining for you to suggest I try and _fake an overload_ to distract the guys downstairs?” 

His expression broadened into a pleased grin. 

She folded her arms across her chassis, stubbornly. “They’d never believe it anyway. Even _you’re_ not that insensitive.”

“Look, even if you just buy me a breem or two, that’ll give me a head start. They’re gonna notice I’m gone the second my signal falls off the registry so it’s not like you have to do it for long.”

“Ugh. All right.” She covered her antennae with both hands. “I’ll think of something.”

“Thanks, Squeaks. I owe you one.” He plopped a kiss onto the top of her smooth helm, and disappeared in a flutter of collapsing air.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ramjet finds himself having second thoughts, and Skywarp's plan is discovered by his wingmates. Things... probably could have gone better, all around. 
> 
> You guys do know how stupid you look, threatening each other with bits of a broken mop, right?

Whichever way you sliced it, watching over sparklings sucked almighty slag. 

Ramjet half-suspected this was a punishment of some sort, perhaps for not being proactive enough? Or for some perceived infraction by his trine, so _thanks_ to you two obnoxious afts for getting him punished for something he wasn’t even involved in. 

But he was also the only one he halfway trusted not to screw things up, so he only had himself to blame, really. Both his wingbros had the tendency to be unrelenting morons, and he knew for absolute certainty that if he left the scraplet under their watch, it’d get broken. Bye bye any hope of ever going home to Cybertron. 

His diminutive charge sat on the terminal he was working at, close enough for him to keep a good watch over. Skydash wasn’t strictly facing in his direction, but Ramjet could tell she had her attention fixed on him. The big blue optics felt rather like the targeting scanner of some dangerous new weapon. It was… weirdly disconcerting. He was starting to see why Dirge had found it so destabilising to have the infant Slipstream staring at him. 

He glanced briefly in her direction, and watched as her gaze hastily flicked away into a corner. He knew it wouldn’t stay there for long. She’d got into a routine that was aggravating his already-sore helm. 

Sucked being the only halfway responsible mech left serving aboard this fragging deep-sea tin can. He vented a sigh and mantled his fingers against his temples. 

“If you’re getting bored, I know the Constructicons wouldn’t mind looking after the li’l blob of tin for a while,” an unfriendly voice drawled from somewhere close behind him. “I heard they were wanting a closer look.”

Ramjet didn’t bother turning around. “Sure thing, Dirge. I’ll get right on it. I mean, I was only just now thinking I needed _yet another reason_ to get Screamer’s trine to slag all three of us the next time we bump into them.”

Dirge muttered something that sounded like a deprecatory assessment of his wingmate’s courage, but Ramjet didn’t feel like asking him to clarify. Even punching him in the helm seemed less attractive than getting him to _just go away_ , for once. 

The thought had barely finished processing when Skydash summoned enough courage to creep closer again, shuffling forwards on her small aft, and put her hand on his arm. “Want home,” she said, softly. “Arrgie take?”

He turned to glare down at her and she snatched her hand away, startled. “For the millionth time, _no_. And it’s Ramjet, not… Arrgie.”

She thought about it for a few seconds. “Mean blue say.”

“Hear that, Dirge? You’re _Mean Blue_ , now. The scraplet knows you better than half your shipmates do.”

Dirge gave a dismissive _snort_. 

Ramjet returned his attention to the sparkling. “And that doesn’t give _you_ permission to call me it, either. Just… sit there and be quiet.”

She sat and stared at him for several dissatisfied seconds. “Want Ama.”

Ramjet tightened his jaw, lips compressing to a thin, annoyed line. That sore helm wasn’t going away any time soon. “I know. You said that a breem ago. My answer hasn’t changed.”

She thought about it for a moment. “When see?”

“When?” He sighed and covered his face. “Uh. Never, I guess?”

A flash of alarm passed clearly through the small face. She silently scrutinised his features, attempting to gauge whether she believed him. “See soon?” she repeated, in a funny wavery little voice. 

“Look; in case no-one told you this? You’re not here for fun, Tiny. You’re our prisoner. You don’t get to make demands. You just do what we tell you to do.”

Skydash thought about it for a few wibbly seconds longer. “See soon,” she repeated, firmly, as though trying to reassure herself that he wasn’t being truthful. 

Ramjet could hear Dirge snickering softly in the background. “ _Ugh_. Sure, fine, whatever.” He sagged back in his chair, letting his arms dangle. “If she somehow manages to rock up at our doorstep demanding to have you back, she can have you. Now _be quiet_.” 

Temporarily mollified, Skydash returned her attention to her small pedes, clicking quietly and self-comfortingly to herself. 

Dirge made an ugly _snrk_ noise. “Good going there, mighty wingleader. Defeated by a sparkling – _again_.”

Ramjet tightened his jaw, biting down on an insult. He could feel his patience straining thinner with every passing second. “So did you finish mopping? Or do you need me to get Thrust to come down here and remind you how to do it?”

“I’m the Boss’s favourite, dude. How about _you_ finish the chores.”

The wet end of the mop slapped him tauntingly on the back of the head. 

It didn’t hurt, but Ramjet’s tolerance was well and truly done. He was up on his feet in a flash, yanked the mop out of his wingmate’s hands, and slammed it down on Dirge’s helm, hard enough to snap it into two. 

Startled, Dirge actually gave a squeak of alarm, fell off his chair and scrambled on all fours out the door before any additional blows could be forthcoming. “ _Primus frag_ , you psycho, what the slag was that for-?!” He cowered behind the wall, engines pitched at just the right level to keep his wingmate from pursuing him. 

Ramjet clutched the broken end of the mop in his fist, willing Dirge to get back within striking range. “What do you think it was for, you fragheaded pitglitch?” he snapped. “Or were you under the impression you were actually being helpful?”

“Hey, _you’re_ the one whining about being stuck on sparkling-duty.” Insulted, Dirge bravely peeked around the doorframe, and dropped his engine pitch a little. “I gave you a suggestion for what to do instead, didn’t I? Don’t blame me if you’re getting too _soft and wibbly,_ and don’t like the idea of being mean.”

Ramjet felt his fists tighten, finding it difficult to resist the compulsion to back off, away from the hideous pitscreech that made his entire core vibrate. “Why don’t you take your attempt at ‘suggestions’…” He forced himself to step closer, gesturing meaningfully with the broken mop. “…and _shove ‘em somewhere_?”

Dirge picked up the other half of the mop; the soggy end meant it lacked a certain menace in comparison to Ramjet’s jagged cosh, but the blue jet didn’t seem bothered. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. How about you bend over, and I’ll get some practice in?”

By now, their noses were almost touching. “Go find something better to do.” 

“ _Make me_.”

Ramjet gave him a shove back towards the door.

But shoves rapidly escalated to punches, and suddenly it had all degenerated into a ridiculous and undignified brawl in a spilled puddle of dirty soapy water in the middle of the monitoring room and it felt rather like Dirge was actually getting the upper hand-

Until the horrendous, ultrasonic distress signal of a frightened sparkling cut like a sonic laser through the scuffle, slicing across sensitive audio receptors like something physical. 

Dirge lurched away in alarm, hands flying up to his audios and inadvertently smacking himself in the face with his mop. “Primus frag-! The slag is that all about-?! Get it to shut up, already!”

Ramjet was already scrambling for the infant, as if he’d be able to find an ‘off’ switch. “ _You_ shut her up, if you’re so clever. And quit making that stupid engine screech, you’re making it worse.”

To Ramjet’s endless relief, for a change Dirge actually just complied and turned off his destabilising sonics. “ _Shake it_ , or something!” 

“Don’t be stupid, that’ll break her.” Ramjet held the wailing sparkling at arm’s length; her legs pedalled frantically in midair, as though scared she was about to be dropped, and her volume actually seemed to _increase_. He flinched and hastily put her back down on the terminal. 

“Nobody said we had to keep from breaking it.” Dirge made a grab for her. “I’m sure Hook has a nice soldering iron we could use to weld its lips closed.” 

“I said, Dirge.” Ramjet hastily put himself in the way. “I said we have to keep from breaking her. I’m actually trying to look at the long picture, and what might happen to _us_ if we do.” 

“Who even cares?” Dirge put his hands up. “Apart from you, slag even knows why. It’s like you’ve written this whole thing off as a failure already!”

“If you’d forgotten, we’re ’Cons? We don’t exactly have the greatest track record of things going in our favour. It’d be nice to increase our odds of surviving in the long term.”

“Well, if you don’t somehow get it to quit making that hideous pitsquall, Megatron will come smash _us_. I figure it’s a fair tradeoff.”

“ _Hnng_.” Ramjet covered his face with both hands and counted to five thousand. “If you hadn’t almost killed the other kid, we could have just left her with him, but no, you _couldn’t slagging leave things alone_ , could you?” 

“Oh come on.” Dirge folded his arms and looked away. “It was just a little nick.”

“Little enough that we had to dump him on Hook before he bled out all over the brig?”

“He coulda crystallised that off for himself, no problem.” Dirge huffed, defensively. “Not like it’s my fault the cops are using substandard parts to keep costs down.”

Ramjet applied a hand to each of Dirge’s shoulders, and hustled him firmly out of the doorway. “OK, Dirge, I give up, you win, you’re the best, I suck, I’ll get back to nursemaid duty seeing as that’s what I’m best at, you go celebrate with Thrust or something, I don’t care, just _go the frag away_.”

He caught only the slimmest glimpse of startled crimson optics before the door hushed closed between them. Dirge voiced a profanity, thankfully muffled, and punched the door, then stomped away down the corridor, heels echoing like gunshots. 

“And as for you…” Ramjet turned to the still-screechy sparkling. The ultrasonic wail might have stopped the instant Dirge left the room, but she was still well and truly caught up in her tantrum.

“Want ama!” she squeaked, half-alarmed, half-angry. “Want home! Arrgie take!”

“Arrgie knows for a fact that he already told you _no_ , so how about you pipe down?” He waved a threatening finger in her direction. “You’re making my helm hurt.”

Skydash took the opportunity, and bit the proffered body part. 

That was the last straw. “All right, bratlet; time you had a timeout.” Ramjet snagged Dirge’s overturned bucket and dropped the sparkling inside, then covered the opening with a databoard. He propped one thruster against the top. “Now be quiet.”

A little hollow clattering ensued, and he could feel something small rattling against the board under his foot. A muffled squeak of alarm echoed up from the pail.

“Be quiet!” He rapped his thrustered heel against the board, and the rattling stopped, startled. 

“…want out?” a thin, staticky voice asked. 

“No. You shoulda thought about that before you got naughty.”

A pause. “…not like in?”

“That’s the point. Quit being a brat and maybe I’ll let you out.”

Another few seconds of anxious chirping passed. “Out now?” she squeaked quietly, tapping at the board. “Am a good?”

He ignored her. She’d actually left chips in his enamel. Great. Like he had nothing better to do than get _those_ filled. (And become a laughing stock – again – when it transpired they were courtesy of a sparkling.)

The squeaks of protest finally turned into the soft murmur of static; after a while, even that faded out. 

Letting his arms dangle at his sides, Ramjet counted to ten thousand and finally allowed himself the luxury of a long cooling draught of air, trying to get rid of a little of the stale exhaust from his vents. Really didn’t say much about his commitment to the Decepticon cause if he could be made to feel bad by a bot that could have fitted in the palm of his hand.

\-------

Joking aside, it still took Pulsar a breem or two to regain the confidence to return to her family in the atrium. Long vorns of habituation meant she wasn’t specifically _scared_ of Winglord Irascible, but getting on his bad side tended to be painful on the audios, and for a protracted period. She still didn’t really have the first idea what she was going to actually _say_ to anyone, either, except probably that she wanted to be first in line to wallop Skywarp when (and if) he finally returned.

And yes, okay, fine; she wanted the sparklings back, in one piece and as soon as possible. Warp’s plan might be the dictionary definition of idiocy, but it was better than no plan at all. Drawing it out like he’d asked her to do maybe gave him a whisper of a halfway remote chance of actually achieving a miracle. 

Maybe. 

When she arrived back on the ground floor, Starscream was pacing back and forth in front of the window, throwing ideas into the air. He didn’t look particularly interested in getting anyone’s input, so long as he got the occasional noise that made it sound like he had an audience. Being interrupted to inform him of the reckless teleport’s actions probably wouldn’t go down so well. 

Pulsar slunk out of the lift and around the maple, and cleared her vents with a little _khuff_. “Skyfire?”

The shuttle turned to look at her. 

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” she asked.

The giant cast his gaze briefly back to Starscream, who offered a sort of pouty _shrug_ and spread his hands, confused by why Skyfire was asking for his permission. 

Skyfire found a small smile. “Of course. You don’t need to ask.”

Pulsar flicked a hand and gestured for them to retire a little further back into the big room. A little more _out of hearing range_. 

Skyfire had to kneel just to get anywhere near her level. “How are you both holding up?” he wondered, quietly, brushing comforting fingertips delicately against her arm. 

Pulsar studied the floor under her feet for a few seconds before forcing out something that tried to be a smile. “Yeah. We’re, uh.” She folded her arms around herself. “Keeping it together, I guess. Trying not to imagine what’s happening to our little sparks when we’re not there. I hope Seem’s got enough common sense to not goad any of them into a fight.”

“He’s had good teachers. If anyone knows how to stay alive-”

“Normally? I’d agree. But they’ve been taken by Cons, with a grudge, who don’t need much baiting. And I’ve been in the role of bargaining chip before. That wasn’t _all_ Siphon’s work.”

Skyfire remained quiet. He remembered the chaos of Egypt, and all the broken, barely-alive machines that had come away from the desert. 

“As for Skywarp, well. He’s, uh.” Pulsar shrugged and looked off into the distance, avoiding meeting his gaze. “Skywarp.” 

Skyfire’s optics narrowed, very slightly. “…is everything all right, Pulsar?”

She rearranged her folded arms around her chassis and drew cold air through her core. Still glaring fixedly at the giant’s knees, she found the words she’d been searching for; “Skywarp, uh. Might have decided he was done procrastinating, and flown off to Earth to rescue the bits himself.”

Skyfire couldn’t help the startled exclamation; “He’s done _what_?!” 

Pulsar leaped forwards, covering the giant’s mouth with both hands. “Shh!” she squeaked, alarmed. 

Skyfire hastily seized her in a hug, in a clumsy attempt to cover the outburst. 

In the sunlit main area of the atrium, Starscream merely clicked his annoyance at having his train of thought briefly derailed, and didn’t challenge it. 

“What in Primus was he trying to achieve?” Skyfire asked, in a whisper, so close to her helm that she could feel the air moving. 

Pulsar mantled her fingers on the shuttle’s enormous shoulder. “You know Skywarp. Never one to let little things like fear and common sense hold him back.” His static field felt nice. Reassuring. Anxious and alarmed, granted, but it didn’t leave her feeling like a walking storm of fireflies; her head felt a tiny bit clearer already. “He thinks he stands a better chance of succeeding and surviving if Starscream doesn’t go with him.” After a beat, she added; “I mostly agree with him. We all know it’s Screamer who Megatron really wants. Everyone else is just an extra bonus.”

“…that Megatron probably won’t kill him _just yet_ doesn’t sound like the most optimistic way of looking at this whole mess.”

“ _I know_. But I’m not sure if there’s many other ways that don’t involve collapsing into a heap of static on the floor.”

Skyfire considered the situation for a few moments longer. “I’m assuming Star doesn’t know yet…?”

“No. Warp asked me to cover for him, because I’m apparently a sucker.” Pulsar vented a frustrated little snort. “Honestly? I’m not sure how to broach the subject. Not without making an enemy of Starscream for the next half a vorn.”

“…which is why you wanted to talk to me? I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to keep him off the warpath, either.” A small, reluctant smile traced the shuttle’s lips. “Especially if Skywarp’s gone and stolen his thunder like this.”

Pulsar groaned softly and let her head bonk down against him. “Why do I always end up sucked into the idiotic parts of everyone’s schemes, where all I can do is try and keep disasters from getting _worse_ , and never anything useful and heroic.”

“I ask myself the same thing on a regular basis. Just because Star’s plans are a little more _polished_ , it doesn’t make them less idiotic, sometimes.”

She sighed against him, and let him relax his grip so she could slide back to the floor. “Well. Thanks anyway. Guess I’ll have to just think of something.”

Skywarp abruptly solved the problem for her. 

Something subtle changed in the atmosphere. A sudden brief, intangible sense of a hole opening up – of something suddenly _not there_ any more. 

Skywarp’s signal had gone off the registry. He’d obviously got through the space bridge. 

And Pulsar found herself suddenly trapped at the focus of everyone’s attention. She puffed herself up, standing as tall as she could in an effort to look bigger. Less vulnerable.

Starscream put himself a scant arm’s length from her, arms folded, looming in the way that got most folk dashing for cover lest a nullray was forthcoming. “I have the feeling you know more about this than you’re telling us.”

Pulsar backed off half a step. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh really.” He lifted his chin, unimpressed. “Has he gone to get Autobot help, is that it? He’s being his usual impatient self, and can’t give me even _half a slagging orn_ to figure out what in Pit we can do to fix this?”

Pulsar ran through her options, but came up with nothing she felt would satisfy Starscream’s temper. The silence stretched out between them. 

“…that’s not it, is it.” Starscream’s optics thinned, suspiciously, and he unfolded his arms. He looked suspiciously like he was preparing to make a sprint after his errant wingmate “What _has_ he gone to do?”

The bike swallowed a quick intake of cold air and braced herself, before ejecting the words in a breathless rush. “He’s gone to try and break into _Nemesis_ , to get the sparklings back by himself. He asked me to run interference because he knew if you went with him, you’d get them all killed. Or try to stop him. And for the record I think he’s right.” 

For a second, Starscream just… stared. Then choked out a noise that sounded like it might have been an incredulous laugh, threw his hands up, and resumed pacing out those tight, agitated circles. 

Pulsar hastily backed off and bumped into Skyfire. 

After several seconds of inability to make anything other than incoherent sounds of outraged disbelief, Starscream finally regained control of his voice. “Did you not think to try and _stop_ him, maybe?!”

She stood and faced him, arms slightly spread as though preparing herself for a fight. “All right, you’re the scientist. _How_. He’s four times my size! He’d have flown me up to a roof somewhere and dumped me there.”

“You didn’t think of, I don’t know, shouting for attention? You can _shake sparks out of the Matrix_ with that siren, since when have you ever needed an excuse to use it?!” 

“Did you miss the part where it would be _a roof_ somewhere in the distance?”

He stopped pacing briefly to wave an arm in a threatening point. “And that would hardly have stopped your comms antenna working. Or is that _something else_ the pair of you have broken and not bothered to get fixed yet?”

She folded her arms and slumped back against Skyfire. “My antennae are fine.” She glared off to one side. “And-… that’s-… not a very fair evaluation.”

Once again, Starscream could only find noises that didn’t really match any known words. “ _Excuse_ me?!” he finally spluttered. “You stood back and watched as my wingmate flew off to his likely doom, and _I’m_ the one being unfair?! Now I expect that sort of idiocy from Skywarp, but I was under the illusion you saw him as a little more than a convenient way to get from A to B!”

Pulsar visibly bristled. “I know it’s a big ask for you to understand this, but we want our family back, all right? In as few pieces as possible. And Skywarp’s the only one who’s had anything even like a workable plan, so far. We can’t be waiting on _you_ forever.”

“A single suicidal badly-thought-out headlong rush into total disaster doesn’t strike me as anything remotely near _workable_!”

“At least he’s _doing something_ -!”

Skyfire set his fingers lightly onto Pulsar’s shoulder, reassuringly, before facing his smaller partner. “To be fair, he _is_ the only one to have come up with something, Star. You’ve not really given us _anything_ to work with, yet.”

Starscream stabbed a finger at him. “Don’t you take their side, traitor!”

The hyperbole might have been obvious, but it didn’t take out any of the sting. Skyfire’s brows tightened at the remark, hurt. “If you think of something, you know you have my support in making it work,” he said, curtly, “but until you do, I’d suggest that we stop sniping at each other, and try to work out how to take advantage of Skywarp’s bravery. Don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (And I can’t believe the last chapter I uploaded of this was in _January_. So sorry guys.)


End file.
